Memories
by Johanna C
Summary: A lone figure walks under the night sky. Memories come flooding back. Melancholic and sad. For those rainy days. One-shot.


Memories

Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to JK Rowling, WB and the various publishing houses. I do not own any intellectual property related to Harry Potter. I do not make any money from this piece of fanfiction.

Note: _Italics_ are flashbacks.

The Memories

I walk, a lone figure under the darkened sky. The gentle twinkling of the stars and the pale light of the crescent moon does nothing to ease the pain or dull the longing that throbs in my hardened heart. I walk on wearily through the deserted grounds, my footfalls silent and measured. The only sound to be heard is the soft swish of my robes and the occasional tormented sigh that escapes my lips. Even the creatures that normally prowl the night are silent; their show of deference to my grieving soul.

As I walk, my mind wanders. Far past the vacant fields and the starry sky. Tonight is a night of remembrance, and as my feet bring me closer to my goal, memories come flooding back to me. They pain me, these loving memories of the past. But I need to remember. I cannot risk forgetting. And as a cloud drifts past the moon, cutting off its fragile light, the first memory assaults my senses.

--

_The pain was almost unbearable. My lungs felt like they were on fire and my chest seemed to throb painfully in time with each heartbeat. My right arm was broken, and my left wrist was snapped. Blood was pouring from the gash in my head and the dizziness was overwhelming. I didn't want to die like this. It was humiliating. And it was unjust. Despite all that I had been told, I knew, deep down inside, that I did not deserve this. This pain was not warranted. I had been good. I knew I had. A good little boy. I had been strong. I didn't cry out once. Despite all the atrocities Fate seemed so happy to heap on my frail shoulders, I had not cried out._

_As my breathing started to slow and blessed darkness reached up to consume me, I changed my mind. Maybe death wasn't so bad after all. Maybe Fate had finally dealt me a kind hand. Dying felt nice. It wasn't like what everyone else said it would be. It wasn't cold. It was warm, so warm. It felt comfortable, slipping away into the blackness. Even when I heard the soft creaking of the door as it swung open, I did not care. I was almost gone. My clouded brain managed to register gentle hands lifting me off the blood-soaked floor before the darkness consumed my mind completely._

--

As the cloud finally flits past the shadowed moon and the mockingly soft light envelops the scene again, I stop and stare out to the sky. It had been warm before, in the memory. But now it was cold. My bones are brittle with a cold that will never subside, never lessen in their bite. My heart and mind are equally icy; all hope of compassion in me faded long ago. The moon is mocking, yes, but at least it mirrors the coldness I feel inside. What I hate, is the stars. So maddeningly bright! They sparkle with such atrocious glee. The stars were never for me. I never had a lucky star to watch over me when I slept at night. All I ever had was cruel Fate. And the darkness, the blessed darkness, that I seek to replicate with the black comfort of the night.

--

_Oh, I had tried to so hard to hate him. I had willed my every action to be against this man; but it was so very very hard. He was kind and gentle where they were cruel and harsh. He was truthful where they were consummate liars. He had taken me from my 'home' and given me a real one. He bathed my wounds everyday. Fed me when I didn't have the strength to lift my spoon. I had been given a room. All to my own. And it wasn't a cupboard. I lived in my enemy's house, and I was under my enemy's care. But I was treated so much better. I had privacy. Even the lord of the house, my captor, knocked and awaited permission to enter the __room that I came__ to consider mine. It was all so strange; and it made me reconsider everything I had thought to be the truth._

_The soothing touches eased the burn and the pain in my body. The gentle massages calmed my aching muscles. His touches never made me feel uncomfortable. They were innocent. Touch to give comfort and peace. The nights in front of the fire, being released from the pain that had been my constant companion. The gentle, soft-spoken questions. It was something from a dream._

--

The pain has begun to build again in my heart and neither the coldness that is already there nor the coldness of the frigid night can numb the pain. It is blooming like a bastardized rose. Instead of beauty, there is only reality. And instead of love, there is only death.

--

"_Will you never talk about it?" The eyes that bored into mine were full of concern, and love. I wanted to talk. Tell it all. Everything. How I felt. How it hurt. And how the man sitting beside me now had saved me in a way I never thought possible. But the words wouldn't come. I was frightened. Scared that this was all just a dream that I would soon wake from. I feared that any moment now, I would wake up back on that blood-covered floor and find the demon of my life still pounding me. Pounding into me. I was too scared it would all become true if I dared said anything aloud. Admitting it in this reality would tempt Fate. Fate never wanted me to be happy. So I would be content and keep my peace. I could not voice my thoughts. But I could say this._

"_I love you." I wrapped myself securely in the arms of my savior; my former enemy and the only person to have ever loved me. Ever truly loved me._

--

The pain feels like it is at its climax. I cannot take anymore of this. A quiet gasp slips from my lips and I realize that, no, there is more pain to come. This is not over. I have to remember. Remember it all. For his sake.

--

_He had come back all beaten and bloody, and now our roles were reversed. I bathed him and tended to his wounds as gently as I could. I lamented the fact that my lover was in pain, but cherished the chance to prove my love. I caressed him tenderly as my savior, my love, tossed and turned fitfully in his restless sleep. I knew that this was an inevitable price of war. I wished my proud and protective lover would let me help. I leaned over and kissed him tenderly,_

"_I love you, Tom."_

_A whisper came back to me, soft, but sure._

"_And I you."_

--

The pain is coming quicker now. I can feel it building and pulsating with the beat of my heart. Tears well up in my eyes and threaten to fall. The world to me now is like a shimmering mirage behind my tears, but I will not wipe them away. They are meant to fall, but not yet. Not just yet.

--

_The final battle was a mockery. Tom, with me by his side, stood tall and proud over the bloodied field. We were winning. The Aurors and the Order were rapidly dwindling in numbers. And the inexperienced 'soldiers' of Dumbledore's Army were no match for the trained duelists of the Death Eaters. But the main obstacle, the true evil, was still alive._

_Tom swept off to face Dumbledore, leaving me to organize and lead his men. He had a score to settle with the old man. The 'wise' one had ruined his life, and mine. He had sentenced both of us to a life of hell and torture just so he could mould the pawns that he so desperately needed in his manipulative little game. But people were not toys to be played with and Dumbledore was about to learn that._

_I watched my lover confront the man who had destroyed his life. Tom was as graceful and beautiful as he ever was. He radiated power, and I knew that Dumbledore stood no chance against the Dark Lord. The old manipulator, however, was grinning. Grinning that maniacal grin I knew had been hiding behind the twinkling eyes all along. Tom drew his wand and prepared to duel. Dumbledore raised his hand. And Tom dropped to the ground. Dead._

--

The memories are over. All that matters has been remembered. Tom was and is my life. Everything after his death is inconsequential. The tears that threatened now spill from my eyes. My eyes that show just how dead I am inside. They do not glitter like the stars, nor shine dully like the moon up above. They are filled with the darkness of the graves that I walk amongst. The tears are cold. As cold as the rest of me.

My feet have brought me to this place. To this grave. It sits above the rest, on the hill where we last stood, side by side over the battle. The grave of my lover is simple. Heavy stone that will withstand the test of time. And if it does not, then the spells I have placed will. No one will ever disturb the peace of my beloved.

I sit on the grass and lean against the solid gravestone for comfort. If I imagine hard enough, lie to myself long enough, I can pretend that Tom is with me. I caress the stone just as I had caressed my lover's face. The etchings on the stone are pleasing beneath my calloused fingertips. There is no name on this stone. The man now dead beneath it had hated his given name. Only I could utter the muggle name of 'Tom' with such love and tenderness that it belied all negativity it held. He was always 'Tom' to me. No one else had had the privilege. And Voldemort was not his name either. It was an image. A mask to stand behind, and I did not want my lover to be buried under a name that held no true meaning. So there was no name. Only a poem. A poem Tom had written the night before the final battle. The pessimism had startled me then, but it made perfect sense after his death. It seemed Fate had been trying to give us both a warning; things never turn out the way you want it to. It is unjust. It is unfair. But that is Life.

The moonlight barely illuminates the stone. But the words seem to have a glow of its own, and it pierces even the gloomiest night.

--

My Heart's Melody

Melodies that become unchained  
with chronic overuse,  
are now my only ammunition  
against the cold of the  
un-understanding world.

Lack of inspiration has weakened  
the chains and the notes  
of my soul, they break free.  
Soar like individual feathers,  
without a bird to bind them together.

Buffeted by winds, uncannily  
the notes, that were once my  
melodies, head towards the  
beating, steaming heart of  
Man.

My melodies that are now  
unchained cry to change the  
cold, cold heart of man.  
But they can't change the symphony,  
the cacophony of man's beating nature.

And so the cold, cold red flows over  
my own howling heart.  
Turning it cold, cold, so very cold.  
And the melodies that rang out so true,  
Stop.

Just as my heart, stops.

--

I trace every word, and remember the man who had written the lines. There was no one else to remember. No one to remember the melody that Tom had sung until the very end. No one to remember my own melody. But that is long dead. And like my lover, I too have no name now. No one to remember it. No one to fear it like they had once feared the name Voldemort. They are all dead. The people. Every last one. In this field. In this land. In the whole wide world. All dead. I am the last. And I rule all. Sitting atop this hill, my only wish is that I hadn't been fated to rule alone.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Another emo, melancholic little story. I get into my moods, and this is what happens. sigh. First poem in the fic too... dont kill me if it isnt very good. But, on the brighter side, I'm currently working on a humour fic! Like 'Little Red Devil'. :) yay for humour! Oh, yeah, thanks for reading!


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